AHave you ever had one of those days when the world is just a little too ridiculous to ignore? The kind where your morning coffee hasn’t even cooled down, and already the internet is shouting, “Bondi says there never was an Epstein client list.” But here is my solution. I’m a fan of National Treasure.…

You give someone a taste of their own medicine, and suddenly, you’re the villain in their made-for-TV movie. They act like you laced their morning coffee with arsenic when all you did was let the mirror talk back. I remember this fella I used to work with—let’s call him Larry because that was his name.…

I’ve been awake since about 2:30. Not by choice, mind you, but due to insomnia. Mary had to be out the door before dawn for work, and once she stirred, so did I. It’s Sunday morning, so I shuffled into the kitchen, poured myself a strong cup of coffee, and invited Buddy and Honey out…

This morning, I declared war on burnout. Not the kind with torches and pitchforks, mind you. No, this was a quieter sort of rebellion—the kind that starts with a second cup of coffee, sipped real slow while watching a lizard do push-ups on the porch railing. See, the world wants you moving fast. Faster than…

I went to an antique auction yesterday, and several people bid on me. Now, before you think I’ve taken up tap-dancing in my twilight years or started a side hustle as a novelty garden gnome, let me explain. I wasn’t supposed to be for sale. I just sat down in the wrong chair, and things…

My childhood was 20 percent Kool-Aid and 80 percent unsupervised danger, and I’m not sure if I turned out all right or if I’m just too old to notice the damage. We made Kool-Aid with the sort of scientific precision that would make a lab technician twitch. First, dump a packet—usually red, never grape—into the…

There was a time when 25 cents could measure the value of the world. Now, I don’t mean to sound like a relic—you know, one of those grumbly old fossils you find on a front porch swing warning kids not to grow up too fast—but I do remember when being rich meant standing in front…

I mowed my lawn at 3:30. No, not 3:30 in the afternoon—though I admit that would make more sense and raise fewer eyebrows from passing joggers and local law enforcement. I mean 3:30 in the morning, under the bleary light of the porch bulb and a moon so faint it looked like it had given…

When I was a boy growing up in Klamath, I tried to give directions to a local elder and ended up getting corrected in a language that predates Columbus, Plymouth Rock, and every one of my schoolbooks. That was the day I learned to pronounce Tlamati instead of Klamath, and I realized the river had…

When I was younger, I dressed like an older man. Slacks, starched shirts, and suspenders–not because I needed to hold anything up, but because I wanted people to think I was serious–about what I never figured out. I just knew I had a deep need to be mistaken for someone important. Nowadays, I’m in my…